


Of Writer's Block and Daisy Dukes

by TheIttyBitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Neighbors, Oral Sex, Writer Dean, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIttyBitty/pseuds/TheIttyBitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean moves back to his hometown, only to find himself with a very interesting (and very hot) neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Writer's Block and Daisy Dukes

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you spot any mistakes!  
> This story was inspired by [this ask](http://frecklesandmisterblueeyes.tumblr.com/post/103768812146/dean-is-a-writer-working-from-home-cas-is-his).

Dean taps idly at the keys of his laptop. Not quite hard enough to actually press, just enough to make noise. He's sitting here at the desk beside his open window, just staring at an open Word document. He has been all day. He has started about twenty different sentences and erased each one of them in the last couple of hours, and gotten exactly nowhere.

  
Writer's block. He's got it bad. Has had for a while, really. He just can't seem to make the words come out right anymore, they stick inside his head like old gum and if he does manage to shake some loose they end up looking like something a toddler spits up. Frankly, it's embarrassing, and a real problem. He _needs_ to write this book, the fourth in a series about a pair of brothers who fight monsters, but it just isn't working. He had hoped, erroneously, apparently, that this move would help. He'd given up his little apartment in New York City that constantly smelled of day-old Chinese food to come back to his hometown of Lawrence, Kansas. Get back to his roots, so to speak. He - and his editor - had hoped that this change of scenery might shake the cobwebs from his head. But... no dice. If anything, this move to Lawrence may have been a bad idea. He has nothing here, really. Both his parents are dead and his brother is living in California with a sweet blonde girl. Very few of Dean's childhood friends are still around, and he's really not very keen on talking to those that are. On top of that, this house is too big. It has a kitchen, a living room, a dining room, a bedroom and a bathroom on the first floor. On the second floor is a second bedroom and bathroom. Not exactly sprawling, but still too large for bachelor who really doesn't want to have to mow his own lawn.

  
He sighs and leans back in his chair, he already knows he's not getting any writing done today, he's just fooling himself.

  
He's pushing himself up out of his chair, determined to find something else to convince himself he aught to be doing (maybe he'll clean the attic), when a knock comes at the door.

  
He straightens, thinking secretly that this really has come at a good time, and moves to the hall. When he swings the front door inward, he's greeted by a man. The man is of a height with Dean, and looks to be around the same age. He has dark hair and blue eyes and he's smiling wide, revealing rows of straight, white teeth.

  
"Hello!" The man says brightly.

  
"Er, hi." Dean replies.

  
The man sticks out his right hand. "I'm Castiel Novak, I live next door."

  
Dean takes the hand warily, and he gets a firm shake from soft, delicate hands.

  
"Next door...?"

  
Castiel points at the little blue house that sits quietly to the right of Dean's own. "Right there!" He explains.

  
"Oh, yeah okay. Um, I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester."

  
Castiel nods happily. "You should put your name on your mailbox." He supplies. "I have paints if you'd like to use them!"

  
"I'll keep that in mind." Dean assures him.

  
Castiel takes a deep breath. "Anyway, I just came over to say "Welcome", and to give you this." He extends his left hand toward Dean, the one that's holding _something_ wrapped in foil that Dean has been politely ignoring up till now. He takes the thing, and peels back the foil.

  
"Pie!" He exclaims.

  
"Yes, I made it. Do you like pie?"

  
"I _love_ pie." Dean gushes. "What kind is this?"

  
"It's just apple." Castiel says. "I didn't know what sort of neighbor you'd be, so I thought I'd stick with the basics."

  
"Thanks, man!" Dean says, and he really means it. "You wanna come in and have some?"

  
Castiel hesitates for a moment, but then says, "Oh, sure!" And steps inside after Dean.

  
Dean gives Castiel a pseudo-tour, showing him the dining room, the living room ("Hey, you have a perfect view of my yard!"), and finally the kitchen. They sit at the kitchen island and Dean pours them both glasses of milk and they each have a slice of pie.

  
Castiel, Dean finds, is not unpleasant to talk to. He's enthusiastic, although somehow his enthusiasm doesn't tire Dean the way most people's does. He seems kind, and honest, and he goes on at length about his flower garden in his backyard. Dean can't see it, only the front yard, but apparently it's the reason Castiel gets out of bed in the morning or something.

  
"You'll have to come over and see it sometime." Castiel says happily.

  
Dean says, "Yeah, sure." But he's not really sure what he just agreed to. He's been transfixed by Castiel's fingers, the way they trace nonsensical patterns in the condensation of his milk glass, long and nimble, for the last several minutes. Basically, he hasn't heard a word Castiel has said.

  
The man just smiles at him and keeps going about his begonias.

  
Castiel Novak leaves about an hour later, leaving Dean with a smile on his lips and a warmth in his stomach. He thinks, as he watches the man tread down the walk to his house, that maybe this move wasn't a complete waste of time after all.

 

-o-

 

 

 

Dean hates mowing the lawn, fucking hates it. No one should be subjected to this torture, walking around in lines while the hot sun bakes on their back, sweat seeping through their Van Halen t-shirt, blades of grass sticking to their damp ankles and thighs. He's hot and achy and itchy and everything sucks. When he gets done though, and pushes the mower back into his little garage, he's glad he did it. The lawn looks nice. He can see a couple spots he missed, but he's not dealing with that now.

  
He's so caught up in surveying his mediocre lawn that he doesn't hear the light footsteps across his neighbor's yard.

  
"Hello, Dean." Says a voice from not too far away.

  
Dean starts, and turns to find Castiel leaning against his fence, smiling.

  
"Oh, hey Cas." Dean says with a little wave.

  
He realizes half a breath later that he's only met the guy once, and probably shouldn't be giving him nicknames, but Castiel doesn't say anything, though his smile does widen just a little.

  
"You look hot." Castiel says.

  
"What?!" Dean squeaks.

  
Castiel's smile grows until Dean can see his teeth again, pearly white. "Sweaty." He clarifies. "You've been out in the heat for a while."

  
Dean swallows and tries to will his pulse to slow. "Oh, uh, yeah. I'm pretty gross."

  
"You want something to drink? I've got lemonade."

  
Dean is gross. He feels gross, he is gross. Sweaty and stinky and tired. He should go inside his own house, take a shower, and try to write more. There's still time today, maybe he could get something out. But then there's Castiel, leaning lazily against the fence that separates their yards and smiling at Dean like they're best friends. He can't disappoint the guy, can he? That would be rude, and downright un-neighborly. Also, some lemonade would really hit the spot right now.

  
"Okay." He says.

  
He goes through his own gate, into Castiel's, and across Castiel's yard, following him inside. The cool air hits him like a wall, and he's instantly more comfortable. He sighs deeply and looks around.

  
Castiel's house is an explosion of color; the walls are splashed blues and purples and oranges, the carpets are vibrant greens and yellows. Rugs are strewn everywhere, tie-dye rainbows, and the walls are crowded with pictures and paintings. He reaches out toward the closest painting, a dark blue night sky, filled with floating people shining like stars. The paint on it is thick, layer over layer until it's practically 3D. His fingers are almost touching it when Castiel speaks.

  
"You like it?" He wonders.

  
Dean jerks his hand back. He'd forgotten that Castiel was standing there.

  
"Yeah," he says after a moment, looking back at the painting. "Yeah, I do."

  
When he glances back to Castiel, the man is smiling at him, leaning against the wall. He smiles a lot, Dean thinks.

  
"Good." Says Castiel. "I painted it."

  
Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "You painted this?"

  
Castiel gives a small nod. "Couple years ago."

  
"So... you're an artist?"

  
"That's what they tell me." Castiel says. He pushes himself off the wall and disappears around the corner and Dean follows him, feeling a bit like a puppy. He comes into a bright kitchen, lit by the light streaming in through the enormous windows that look out over the backyard, which is a vibrant sea of flowers.

  
Castiel is standing at a low kitchen table, bathed in sunlight, pouring lemonade from a pitcher into a glass. He sits down and gestures for Dean to do the same, sliding him the glass when they're sitting side by side. Their fingers brush over the condensation, and neither one of them pull away as quickly as they should.

  
"So, what is it that you do?" Castiel asks, tipping his head curiously to the left.

  
Dean takes a long drink of lemonade, letting it wash the dryness from his throat, drown the heat in his stomach. "I'm a writer." He says finally.

  
"Really?" Castiel's eyes light up. "Anything I've read?"

  
Dean takes another drink, hoping it'll cool the warmth rising his cheeks. "Probably not." He scratches the back of his neck. "Just... uh, some crappy fantasy/horror."

  
"My favorite!" Castiel says. "C'mon, what're they called? You can tell me."

  
Dean's cheeks are flaming, and he's not even sure why. A lot of people have read his books, and he's never been nervous about sharing them before. "It's, ah, the series is called Supernatural. It's pretty dumb, they're not very..." he trails off, because Castiel's mouth is hanging open.

  
"Oh. My. God." He says. "You're _that_ Dean Winchester?!" He leans forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the table. "I _have_ read your books! I have them, in fact."

  
"Oh..." Dean swallows. He's not sure how he feels about Castiel having read his books. On one hand, the man seems pretty excited, and it makes Dean's stomach flip happily. On the other hand, in reading his books, Castiel has basically seen inside him, seen his thoughts. When he looks back up, Castiel's lip is caught between his teeth and he's watching Dean appraisingly.

  
"You're _very_ good." Castiel tells him happily.

  
Dean clears his throat. "I'm, uh, glad you think so."

  
"Am I embarrassing you?" Castiel guesses astutely.

  
"Oh, ah, I don't know." Dean says, shaking his head and continuing to try and swallow around his tongue that now feels much too thick.

  
Castiel takes pity on him. "We'll talk about something else." He says, patting Dean on the arm. "What brings you to Lawrence?"

  
"Needed a change of scenery." Dean tells him. He's having an easier time talking now that they're talking about something he's more comfortable with. "And I grew up here. I thought, I don't know, I thought it would be nice."

  
"Is it not?"

  
Dean shrugs. "It's alright. Just... there's a lot of memories and no one to share them with. My brother lives in California now and pretty much everybody I went to school with is gone... or dead. It's like walking around a graveyard, you know? Like, I walk by the park and I think "Me and Jo used to play pirates there and pretend the slides were our ships" and for a second I sort of expect to see her again or something, but she left years ago. Or, you know, I walk by the Costco and I remember doing donuts in that parking lot with my friend Ash when we were seventeen, but he's... he actually died a few years back. It's just weird."

  
Castiel frowns. "I'm sorry about your friend, Dean." He says quietly.

  
Dean waves him off. "It happens. It sucks, but... yeah. It sucks." He rubs a hand over his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to just unload on you."

  
"What are friends for?" He asks, smiling softly.

  
"True." Dean huffs a laugh. Castiel is just sitting there, listening attentively. He doesn't seem like he minds Dean's grumbling at all. Dean clears his throat. "So, what about you? You didn't grow up here, did you?"

  
Castiel shakes his head. "I'm from Colorado. I moved here a few years ago."

  
"You mind if I ask why?" Dean wonders.

  
Castiel taps his finger on the table once, twice, then stills. "Most of my family lives in Colorado, but I have one brother that lives here and he... was having some problems. It's kind of a long story but my family ended up sort of shunning my brother, and I didn't agree with that so I moved out here to help him out."

  
Dean blinks. "Wow." he says.

  
"Wow?"

  
"That's kinda... selfless." Dean explains.

  
Castiel shrugs. "That's family."

  
And, really, if Dean hadn't already kind of really wanted to kiss Castiel (yes, he'll admit it), that would have done it. Dean reaches out and brushes the back of Castiel's hand with his thumb. Castiel tilts his head a little to the side and opens his mouth. For some reason, the space between his lips seems heavy, like he's about to say something important.  
So, of course, that's when they hear the front door open, and an obnoxiously loud voice calls, "Cas, I'm home!"

  
Castiel sighs and rolls his eyes, and Dean pulls quickly away. The man who steps into the kitchen is _not_ the kind of person he would have that Castiel would go for, but he moves about the place with a familiarity that places him instantly as someone who lives here with Castiel.

  
The man glances at Dean as he makes his way past them to the refrigerator. "Who's the Ken doll?" The man wonders, pulling what looks like an entire cake and a can of whipped cream from inside.

  
"This is Dean." Castiel says in a weary sort of way that suggests he's used to this kind of behavior. "He lives next door. Dean, this is Gabriel."

  
The short man narrows his eyes at Dean, who attempts a friendly smile but probably just ends up looking constipated. He's got a heavy knot in his stomach and he kind of wants to go home now. He quickly drains the last of his lemonade and stands.

  
"Thanks for the lemonade." He tells Castiel.

  
"Are you leaving?" Castiel asks, looking adorably confused.

  
"Uh, yeah, I should go take a shower. I'm pretty gross." It's only partially a lie. He is gross, but he probably would have sat with Castiel all day if Gabriel hadn't shown up. If Dean hadn't realized Castiel is involved with someone. Dean curses himself mentally, of course Castiel isn't single, he's way too great to be.

  
Castiel follows Dean to the door and gives him a little wave. "Thanks for coming over." He says.

  
Despite himself, Dean smiles. "Can't resist lemonade."

  
Castiel smiles back, and waves again as Dean goes down the walk.

 

-o-

 

 

 

Dean sees Castiel a few times over the next week, walking to and from his car or to the mailbox, and the man always waves to him and gives him a happy little smile. But Dean also sees Gabriel, with his loud clothing and and his stupid face. Dean tries not to think badly of him, he really does, but he can't help but resent the man. If it weren't for Gabriel, Dean might have a chance with Castiel. He might have a chance to see if Castiel's lips are really as soft as they look, if his skin looks good with hickeys blooming beneath the skin, if his thighs... but, he's getting off track. Because Gabriel _is_ there, and Dean has no chance.

  
On top of that, he still hasn't written a thing. He's been here several weeks now and he's made no progress whatsoever. It's maddening and Dean is starting to think again that this has all been for nothing. He moves around his house like an angry shadow, moody and frustrated with himself.

  
At the end of the week, Castiel invites Dean over again for pie. This time it's strawberry and blackberry, possibly the best thing Dean has ever tasted. He tells Castiel so, a lot and with much groaning around the fork to accentuate his point. Castiel gets a pink tinge to his cheeks and smiles big and Dean tries not to think about what it might mean. They talk about food and cars and television, and Dean feels the knot that's been sitting heavy in his stomach all week dissipate. Castiel is confusingly flirty, touching Dean's arm and making an amount of eye contact that would be weird from anybody else, but is sort of adorable from him.

  
But then Gabriel comes home and Dean excuses himself again, feeling guilty. He does manage to bang out a chapter that night though, which is progress.

 

 

 

 

The next day, Castiel mows his lawn. Maybe it shouldn't be a big deal, but it is. Dean can see him very clearly from his desk next to the window, where he tries very hard to concentrate on his not-writing, failing miserably. The main problem is that Castiel is pushing a rickety old mower across the lawn in nothing but a pair of purple sneakers and worn shorts that might actually count as Daisy Dukes. They're small and tight and Dean is having a very hard time wrenching his gaze away from the perfect picture of Castiel's ass for any amount of time. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to doing something he shouldn't, something wrong, until he's feeling so jittery that he has to get up and away from the window. As soon as he does, though, he thinks of the lemonade. Castiel has been a good neighbor, and Dean should return the favor, shouldn't he? He should see if Castiel wants something to drink. Nothing more than that. Just a drink. Tea, that's all. He's not doing anything wrong.

  
He makes a pitcher of tea and puts it into the refrigerator, then leans against the sink until he hears the lawn mower shut off. Then he walks out his front door and calls out, "Hey, Cas!"

  
Castiel looks up from where he's pushing the mower toward his little garage, a smile lights up his face. "Hello, Dean!" He says.

  
Dean swallows, and reminds himself that he's not doing anything wrong. He's not going to do anything with someone who is attached. "Want some tea?" He asks.

  
"Sure," Castiel calls back. "Just let me put the mower up."

  
Dean nods and turns to back into the house, leaving the door open just a crack. He gets two glasses out, puts ice in them, and fills them with tea. He sets them down, side by side, at his kitchen table, and sits down to wait. He only has to wait a few short minutes before he hears footsteps in the entryway and then Castiel steps into the kitchen. He sits down easily next to Dean, and takes a deep swallow from his tea.

  
Dean thinks immediately that this was a bad idea, this close he can see the sweat cooling on Castiel's chest, and, for that matter, Castiel's chest. His muscles might not be bulging, but they're well defined. His arms look as strong as tree limbs. He's got a thick waist and the skin on his torso is sun-kissed, so he probably goes without a shirt quite a bit. His thighs are amazing, golden and strong and slightly wet with sweat.

  
Dean takes a deep breath and looks away.

  
Castiel drains the glass in one go, and thumps the cup back onto the table with a sigh. "Thank you for that." He says. "I needed it."

  
"No problem." Dean assures him.

  
"No, I really appreciate it." Castiel insists. "You took time out of your day to make me a drink, and I thank you." He smiles, and his eyes get little crinkles at the edges.

  
Dean waves him off. "I wasn't doing anything important. Just failing to write."

  
Castiel's head tips to the side. "Something wrong?"

  
Dean leans back in his chair. "Just writer's block." He sighs. "It happens."

  
"How long has that been going on?" Castiel asks, leaning forward curiously.

  
"A while." Dean rubs at the stubble on his jaw. "Kinda why I moved, actually. I thought it might help."

  
"Huh." Says Castiel. "And you're not... seeing anyone, are you?"

  
Dean furrows his brow. "No. Why?"

  
Castiel shrugs, a display of nonchalance that's fooling no one. "Just... it might help."

  
"What, dating?" Dean asks, confused.

  
"Not dating... exactly."

  
It takes a few seconds for it to sink in. Dean chokes on a laugh. "You mean you think I need to get laid."

  
Castiel shrugs again. "I've never experienced writer's block myself, but I've heard that occasionally it has to do with excess stress."

  
"Maybe." Dean says.

  
There are a few seconds of strange silence, in which Dean fails to notice Castiel's cheeks steadily turning a vibrant red.

  
"You know, maybe-"

  
"What?"

  
"Oh, just, maybe I could..."

  
Dean keeps his eyes on Castiel, not risking looking away. "What are you...?"

  
Castiel smiles, small and nervous. He leans closer. "I could, um, I could... help?" He reaches out and brushes his fingers over Dean's jean-clad knee, and there's no mistaking what he's suggesting.

  
Dean leans back and blows out a breath. He closes his eyes and steels himself. "No, you don't need to do that."

  
He feels Castiel's fingers slip away, and when he opens his eyes again, Castiel is leaning back in his chair, with a hurt look on his face.  
"Oh. Okay." Castiel says quietly. "I'm sorry, I, uh-"

  
And he looks so fragile all of a sudden, so beautiful and small. "Hey, it's not- I like you, okay? A lot. You're really cool and your pies are killer and you're..." gorgeous, sexy.

  
"Then why?" Castiel wonders.

  
"Gabriel, Cas." Dean says, amazed that the man isn't thinking of his significant other at all. "I can't do that to Gabriel."

  
Castiel's eyebrows furrow, his head tips to the side. "What does Gabriel have to do with this?"

  
"Well he's not exactly my favorite person ever but I'm not a cheater, Cas, and I'm not going to be a party to it either." He says in a huff, he's starting to get a little frustrated. Sure, he's not a fan of Gabriel, but cheating is _not_ okay, and if Castiel is fine with cheating, it doesn't bode well.

  
"Dean," Castiel says slowly. "Gabriel is.... my brother."

  
Dean freezes. "What?"

  
Castiel's eyebrows raise slowly to his hairline. "You thought... oh my god. Gross. Gross, gross!" He flaps his hands wildly around his head. "Ugh. No! _Brother_ , he's my _brother_!"

  
"Oh. Wow. I, uh, I'm so sorry!" Dean stammers. He can feel his face heating up. _God_ this is embarrassing. Gabriel is Castiel's _brother_. That explains, well, pretty much everything. And, Dean realizes, that means Castiel is...

  
He clears his throat. "So you're, uh, _not_ seeing anyone?"

  
Castiel's face gentles. "Nope." He says, lips curving up into a small smile. "Completely unattached."

  
Dean taps his fingers on the tabletop, blood flowing quickly, a little anxiously, through his veins. "That's... good. That's good."

  
"So...?" Says Castiel.

  
"So." Says Dean.

  
"So if you wanted, now that you know I'm not being unfaithful," he shrugs, "my offer still stands."

  
Dean feels a bead of sweat roll down his temple. He wants this, he wants it bad. And now he can have it. He can actually have it. And it _has_ been a long time since he's seen any action. He licks his lips, they're so dry.

  
"Ye-" he starts, but his throat is dry too and he has to clear it and start again. "Yeah." He looks Castiel in the eyes, twinkling and blue. "That actually, uh, sounds pretty good."

  
The grin Castiel gives him is just short of predatory, and his eyes sweep slowly over Dean's body. It's strange, because Castiel's eyes make him feel naked, vulnerable, but Castiel is the one who barely has any clothes on.

  
"What, now?" Dean wonders.

  
Castiel laughs. "Now not a good time for you?" He sets his hand on Dean's upper thigh and squeezes.

 

 

 

"Heh, yeah. I mean no! I mean, now's fine." Dean stammers out.

 

Castiel is still smiling at him, softly, gently, like he knows a secret. His hand moves up further and he's brushing his hand over the bulge in Dean's jeans. He rubs it, not hard, but enough, and moves to unzip it, slowly. As he does, he slides to the floor, and he's kneeling between Dean's legs, smiling up at him. He does everything slowly, and looks up at Dean a lot, like he's checking to make sure he's still on board. Really, he doesnt need to worry. There's _no way_ Dean is going to change his mind about this now that he knows it's okay and they both want it. Because Castiel is kneeling there between his legs, skin still damp with sweat, cheeks pink and lips plump.

 

When he leans forward and takes Dean into his mouth, everything goes muted, Dean forgets everything else. He's had blowjobs before, plenty, but no one has ever sucked so tenderly, licked so sweetly. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses up and down the shaft. He closes his lips around the tip and sucks gently.

 

It's too much and not enough and Dean has one hand buried in Castiel's hair and one gripping his shoulder for dear life. At one point Dean glances down and Castiel has his own dick out, jerking himself off slowly while he gives Dean the best blowjob he's ever had. It's surreal, in a way Dean can't quite process at the moment. Then Castiel is doing something amazing with his tongue and Dean is grunting, "Cas, gonna come." but the man stays where he is and swallows all of it before he himself comes on the linoleum.

 

They sit still for several long minutes, Castiel with his head resting on Dean's thigh. Finally, Dean speaks.

 

"Thanks." He says quietly.

 

When Castiel looks up, his eyes are sleepy. He gives Dean a small smile. "No problem. Hey, can I grab a quick nap on your couch?"

 

"Uh, yeah, sure." Dean says, because it's really the least he can do.

 

Castiel falls asleep with his head buried in the couch cushions, limbs splayed everywhere. Dean wonders if he always gets this sleepy after orgasm, of if it's because he was out mowing.

 

Dean cleans up the mess on the floor, and goes to sit on the end of the couch not occupied by Castiel's long limbs. He watches the man's face, the way it ticks in sleep, for a good amount of time, wondering what he should do now. Should he ask Castiel to stay? To eat supper with him? Should he invite him out? Something?

 

He's not sure, but he'll definitely do something once the man wakes.

 

For now though, he feels like... writing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://frecklesandmisterblueeyes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
